


You Can't Understand

by romanticizingchemicals



Series: Frerard One-Shots • romanticizingchemicals [7]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Dirty Talk, Dom!Frank - Freeform, Drugs, Frerard, Gay, M/M, MCR, My Chem, Porn, Punishment, Smut, Social Anxiety, Top!Frank, bottom!Gerard, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, my chemical romance - Freeform, smutty shit, sub!Gerard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticizingchemicals/pseuds/romanticizingchemicals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>•some more smut, but I decided to make it where Gee basically goes out and whores himself out for shit, so yeah•</p><p>Title Inspiration: Thank You for the Venom, by My Chemical Romance (Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Understand

I sit on the recliner in the living room, the house dark and silent. Nothing moves, nothing makes a single sound.

 

I feel nothing at all. Nothing but hurt and sadness and an overwhelming sense of betrayal. 

 

I've been waiting for Gerard to come home for nearly three hours, in the exact same position, occupied by nothing but my thoughts. I want to cry, but I can't. This isn't the first time he's been late. Oh, no, Gerard makes a habit out of whoring himself out to random strangers in return for alcohol or cigarettes. It's a constant, almost nightly thing. He's constantly coming home hours after the time we've agreed on. 

 

The fact that he's always late because he's having sex or prostituting himself out for some random people that have shit he wants is heartbreaking. This has been a thing for nearly three months, and I'm sick of him coming home, the scent of someone else lingering on his shirt. Most of the time, he's half drunk, but even when he's not, he'll pretend to be so that I can't blame him for anything he's done. But I'm so sick and tired of dealing with the fact that I'm just not good enough for him.

 

Don't get me wrong, I love fucking Gerard. I mean, we have sex almost every week, but I can't grasp the concept that my sex just isn't good enough for Gerard. Even when we do fuck, he's always stretched out in advance, and it's no fun when I can't turn him on the same way I used to be able to.

 

So that's why I'm waiting for him to come home, because I've decided to do something about this. I can't stand this betrayal, this sadness. I'm done feeling so used, even though Gerard is the one who's basically everyone's slut. If anyone, _he's_ the one that should be feeling completely used. 

 

Though I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to do or say, I know that even if Gerard is going to sell himself out to random guys off the block, I still love him a lot. So I just need a way to remind him that he's mine, and no one else's. He's _my_ slut. He's _my_ whore. He's _mine_.

 

I hear a car pull into the driveway, and my breath hitches in my throat. He's back from another one of his one-night stands, and I can hardly contain how upset I am. I thought that I'd be able to assert my dominance, but I'm too broken. I can't do this.

 

The sound of someone fumbling with the doorknob fills the silent void, and the door opens quietly. Gerard steps into the house silently, closing the door behind him and taking off his shoes. I don't move as I wait for him to come through the living room, because he'll probably sneak into the kitchen to grab a drink or a bite to eat. Knowing Gerard, he's usually starving or parched when he's done with sex, and that's quite often.

 

As I suspected, Gerard tip-toes through the living room, on his way to the kitchen. I clear my throat quietly, and he nearly jumps through the roof. He turns around, eyes wide open, and I stand up, turning on the lamp by the recliner. "Who was it this time?" I spit, suddenly finding confidence in my sadness. Emotion drips from my words, and Gee winces, but says nothing.

 

"What did you get from it this time, hmm?" I continue, and Gerard remains silent. The silence hangs between us, the room full of it. I step closer to him and cross my arms, tears gleaming my eyes. "Answer me, damnit!" I scream angrily, breaking down into sobs, "You whore yourself out to every person you meet on the street in exchange for a box of fucking cigarettes! You have no respect for me or for your body! Fucking slut! I don't even know why I put up with your shit!" 

 

Gerard refuses to meet my gaze, and I step closer, so that I'm only a few inches away from him. He reeks of gasoline, and I can't control how hard I'm crying. "Who'd you fuck? A truck driver? You smell like gas, and I can't... I can't..." I cry out, but then I realize something. I know how I can make him pay for this. 

 

"I'm sorry. I'm–" Gerard starts, but I yank his hair and pull him in for a sloppy, messy kiss. Biting his lip harshly causes him to scream in agony, and I shove him back. "Get your ass on the bed, and get undressed. Don't do anything until I get in there," I spit at him, and he nods quickly, rushing out of the room. 

 

"And don't touch yourself!" I add as an afterthought, looking towards the kitchen. In one of the drawers beneath the breadbox, I keep a few of my toys, and I use them on Gerard when I'm feeling especially kinky. But I'm not feeling hot or kinky or anything like that. I want to make sex good for Gerard. Great. Memorable. I want him to feel this one for weeks.

 

I hear the creaking of the bed I share with Gerard, and I hurriedly fish for a few things in the drawer. A pull out a cock ring, which is something I've never used on him before. I hate delayed orgasms, because everything is hotter when it's fast. All at once. "Better put that pretty ass up in the air, because it won't be pretty for long!" I scream, and I hear Gerard moan. 

 

Maybe I can use some dirty dialogue to turn him on and make him remember how good I am to him. I walk to our room to the hot sight of a very naked Gerard sprawled out on the bed. Just seeing him like this makes me not want to have to punish him or to hurt him, but I snap out of my haze and hold up the ring.

 

Gerard looks over at me, his eye catching the ring, and he whimpers desperately. "Oh God, please," he moans, and I approach him, sliding the ring around his limp member. "I'm gonna make you realize how good I am to you. You're gonna be so sore tomorrow, and you'll feel this one for weeks," I hiss, and Gerard shifts uncomfortably. 

 

I take off my pants and pull my shirt over my head, tossing the clothes to the ground angrily. When nothing is left but my underwear, I pad over to the drawer where I keep my condoms. I'd prefer not to use them, but who knows what nasty diseases Gerard's victims have?

 

"Let me tell you how it's going to be," I say sharply, pulling my boxers down as slowly as I can, "I'm gonna fuck you so hard that my name is going to be the only thing that you'll think about. That when every time you even think of looking at someone else, you'll immediately regret it, because you're gonna feel this for a long time. It's gonna be hard and dry, and you're not going to make a sound. You can't cum, either."

 

Gerard moans in protest, and I unwrap the condom, tossing the trash aside carelessly and placing it on my own length. It's weird, not having Gerard suck me off or lube me up, but there's not going to be any lube. There's not going to be any prep. 

 

I grab Gerard's ankles roughly, flipping him over onto his stomach and pulling him to the edge of the bed. I push his legs up under him, noticing how red and stretched out his hole already is. "Tell me who it was this time," I demand, to which he squeaks, "I don't know."

 

He never knows. He doesn't even bother to learn any of his sex partners' names, because they only end up running into each other once before becoming complete strangers again. "What'd you get out of him?" I ask irritably, and Gerard grimaces. "Xanax," he admits shamefully, and I feel a sudden surge of pity for the broken mess before me. How many times that I've walked in on Gee trying to overdose on medication or taking drugs, I can't say. It's been too frequent, and I always end up staying up for hours just to talk him down from it.

 

We've agreed that Gerard isn't allowed to do drugs, because he's only been prescribed a few for his social anxiety disorder, but he goes through the bottles in less than a week. He uses sex as a way to seduce pharmacists and random guys off the street, which is illegal and life-threatening. He's never been caught, and he never will be. He'll kill himself before that happens, because suicide is always an option for him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask, trying not to choke on tears. 

 

Not only had Gerard gone out and had sex again, but he's also gotten more drugs. He doesn't reply, and I continue, "Gerard. Listen to me. You are going to get yourself killed. Do you hear me? You are going to die if you keep this up. Xanax is a drug that'll only help in small doses, but at the rate you're taking these pills, you're going to die. _You. Are. Going. To. Get. Yourself. Killed_."

 

He draws a shaky breath, but says nothing. I decide that I won't be sleeping tonight, and that we're going to spend the night in the living room, cuddling and talking and searching the house for any drugs he may be hiding. For a few minutes, I reconsider this whole thing. I can't fuck him. He's too broken. Too far into the tragedies he's spun. I can't.

 

But as he feels me moving away, he shakes his head, and cries, "No, Frank, please! You don't... You don't know how much I need this. I'm dying, please, Frank. I need you. I need you. I'm done with all of this; I'm done selling myself for drugs and cheap shit. I'm such a cheap whore, and I can't stand myself. Drugs fix it, you fix it. Please." How fucking him is supposed to help, I'm not even sure. If he's sore and he's upset, then how will _more_ sex help?

 

The logical sense in me screams out in protest as I return to Gerard, but my instincts encourage it. I take a deep breath and decide between the two, my choice being to lean in towards Gerard's hole and to press my tongue against it. What's absolutely disgusting is the fact that he's just had sex with someone I don't even know, yet I'm doing a follow up for him. Gerard moans, and I smack him. 

 

"I said not to say a word," I reprimand, and then grab his hips as I line myself up with him. Without warning, I shove myself in, and he screams out. It's extremely difficult to even get myself in, because he's dry and I'm dry and this is awful. I hate it. But it'll make Gerard regret every other one-night stand he's ever done.

 

I bring my hand down onto his ass again, doing so every time he even peeps or lets a moan escape his lips. I press myself in, pull out, and then shove myself back in, the movement becoming habitual and routine. I continue thrusting in and out of him, my sadness and anger and all of the other feelings that I've been bottling up serving as my motive. 

 

Gerard grunts, his orgasm obviously being cut off by the cock ring. I kind of don't even want to give him the satisfaction of cumming, but I will. He cries out as I brush his prostate, but I don't hit him. Instead, I thrust into the same spot over and over again, wanting to send him over the edge, only to crash into nothingness. I have the power over him, and he's defenseless. However, I feel my own orgasm building up, and it tears at my chest relentlessly. 

 

"Oh God, Gerard," I moan, and I cum into he condom. He whines as I ride out my orgasm with a shrill squeal, which honestly sounds like screamo being played on a very quick setting of a record player. "Please, Frank, fuck," Gerard cries, and I pull out, turning him over onto his back. His cock twitches with anticipation, swollen and hard. The fact that I can do this to him even when he fucks someone every single night gives me a lot of confidence.

 

I smirk as I pull off the cock ring, jacking Gerard off until he cums with a loud moan. No matter how many times we fuck, the taste of Gerard will never get old. I'll never get bored of seeing him like this. 

 

"Bet you liked that, didn't you?" I whisper, and Gerard nods. "Remember that you're mine. You're no one else's. Say it, Gee," I continue, and he groans. "I'm your slut, and I'm here for... For you. You're my everything, and I'm your pretty little whore." I lean down to kiss him, and whisper against his warm lips, "That's right you are."

 

***

 

As soon as we're done dressing after our shower, Gerard makes a beeline for the bedroom, but I catch him by the sweater. "No," I say, and he sighs. I whip him around so that he's looking at me, and I continue, "Give me the Xanax. Go get all of the drugs and the poison and the pills you keep around here. I want them all, understand?"

 

He nods slowly, biting his bottom lip. I can't stand to see him being used by people for sex, even if he's the one selling himself out for stuff, but what's even worse is how depressed and suicidal these drugs make him.

 

With all of his problems, I love him, and even if he's willing to have sex with every person he meets for a can of beer or a few bucks for over-the-counter drugs, I'll always be here for him. And I think it's time I help him get his shit together. I just hope it'll work. I watch him walk around, slightly limping, and I smirk, because I did that. 

 

But it's not a proud smirk; it's a sad one. I'm a bit upset that I caused that pain, but he'll remember this way. 

 

He's mine, and I'm his, and I love him more than he'll ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guys like this or no? I'm in a bad mood currently, so yeah. Sorry if I didn't do a very good job with this one!


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